Finding My Voice: A Reflection Inspired by Sarzameen

I recently watched the film Sarzameen, a story layered with themes of patriotism, militancy, and parenthood. While all three were powerful, it was the portrayal of parenthood that stayed with me the longest. It stirred memories I had tucked away—memories of my own childhood, of a time when my voice was trapped behind hesitation, fear, and silence.

As a child who stammered, I didn’t struggle only with speech—I struggled with shame. What hurt more than the inability to speak fluently was the reaction it drew from those closest to me. In many families, unfortunately, a child's speech difficulty is met not with patience, but with ridicule. When parents mock—whether playfully or out of frustration—it sends a clear message: you are not enough. And siblings, unknowingly or otherwise, often join in.

This constant sense of being “different” and “less than” is deeply traumatic. Home, which should be a safe haven, becomes a place of judgment. Slowly, the child retreats inward, silenced not by the stammer itself, but by the fear of being laughed at or dismissed.

But life has a strange way of placing the right people in our path.

People who listen without rushing.

People who see the person, not the problem.

People who simply say, “Take your time, I’m here.”

It was through such kindness that I began to heal.

I found my voice not through therapy alone, but through acceptance.

Through love.

Through belief.

I hope the people who stood by me during those fragile years find their way to this post. Your support may have seemed simple or ordinary at the time, but for me, it was life-changing. A special thank you to that one person—you know who you are. I will remain forever indebted to you.

From being the child who couldn’t utter a single word in class…

To someone who now speaks confidently, without hesitation, in any room—

That journey has been long, painful, beautiful.

And I write this today not just to reflect, but to remind every parent, every sibling, every teacher, every friend—

Your words can wound. But they can also heal.

Choose the latter.

Welcome Home... To Yourself. 🏡💫

Some films don’t just tell a story — they open old drawers inside you, quietly bringing back the memories you thought were folded away forever. The Marathi film Welcome Home did just that to me.

As I watched, I wasn’t just seeing a story — I was reliving mine.

The day I decided to separate and walk out from a long relationship…
I didn’t expect celebration, but I didn’t expect such isolation either.

“Stay in a hostel — you have no place to go". They said. 

“Leave the children.”

“Start working. Move on.” And the harshest of all — “Why do you need the children?”

And amid all these instructions, opinions, and judgments, not once did someone say,
“Come to me.”
“Come home.”
“We’re here.”

No one opened their doors.
No one opened their arms.
Everyone was ready to tell me what to leave… but no one told me what I could hold on to.

But I did hold on.
To love.
To truth.

I couldn’t leave my children. To the only thing that ever felt like home — my children.
They were not a burden — they were my breath.
I wasn’t willing to walk alone, not because I was weak — but because I was still a mother.

They didn’t ask me for strength.
They became my strength.
In their acceptance, their quiet resilience, and their unshaken presence —
I found the home no one offered me.

And over time, a few others appeared —
Not loudly, but gently.
They didn’t say “I understand,” but they stayed.
They listened without fixing, stood without judging.

When we are finally surrounded by people who accept us as we are —
who don’t ask us to explain our brokenness,
but simply sit beside it —
our eyes don’t tear up out of agony… they soften out of peace.

Welcome Home isn’t just a film title.
It’s the moment when the ache of abandonment is slowly replaced with the quiet warmth of belonging.
When you realize — home isn’t always a place, or a person.
Sometimes, home is the version of you who refused to give up.
And the few hearts who stayed close while you rebuilt yourself.

To my children — thank you for being my home.
And to those few who stood by when I had nothing to offer but honesty —
you are my welcome back to life.

Welcome home. Truly. 💛